


Not Easily Broken

by Johnlockedness



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bathroom, Bedroom, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Masturbating, Morning Rituals, Voyeurism, hint at Johnlock, hint at watersport, preslash, shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 15:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlockedness/pseuds/Johnlockedness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock share the only bathroom in the flat. The bathroom door from Sherlock's bedroom is transparent and he has developed a dark and voyeuristic morning ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Easily Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Mid0nz's](http://mid0nz.tumblr.com/post/60933582130/mid0nzs-bbc-sherlock-writing-contest-about-1st) BBC Sherlock Writing Contest. And third place winner :3
> 
>  
> 
> Prompt: _Sherlock can see into the only bathroom in the flat from his bedroom. It’s true. (Johnlock alert!)_
> 
> I tagged it with Johnlock, but they are not really getting it on together yet. But strong hints towards the ship.

Sherlock Holmes does not appear to sleep at the very worst of times. But John knows that he regularly sleeps until quite late in the morning. Which, when you think about it, isn’t that strange, of course. The man occupies himself with either mad experiments, sorting out his mind palace or playing the violin until deep into the night.

After cases, Sherlock is often so exhausted that, after a hot meal has been consumed and his metabolism finally slows him down, he will actually sleep throughout the entire night and possibly even throughout the morning. 

Sherlock Holmes, however, has a daily recurring morning ritual and wakes up whenever he hears John’s padding footsteps on the floor above his own bedroom. John is a man of precision, of rules, and so is his morning schedule. An old trait from the army, Sherlock muses. 

John Watson wakes at 6:15 precisely every single morning, whether he has a shift at the surgery or not. Sherlock can hear the alarm on his phone going off: a very standard and dull tone. It usually takes a few more minutes for John to get out of bed and Sherlock can deduce from the faintest sounds what it is that John is doing. 

Truth be told, Sherlock has learned John’s morning rituals by mind. 

John will yawn, stretch and roll over to repeat the process a couple of times before admitting defeat against the break of day and crawl out of bed. He will make the bed to neat army precision and if Sherlock keeps very still he can hear the hinges of the wardrobe creak slightly when John fetches his thick cotton dressing gown. London traffic is often interfering, but he can usually make out the soft squeaking sound of the door hinges screaming for oiling. 

After that, John will give himself a look over in his wardrobe mirror, stretching and posing which is often followed by either a groan of satisfaction or a slight moan of desperation. In that last case he might consider going back to the gym once in a while and he will surely complain to Sherlock and tell him all about his upcoming plans. 

Today John groans a proud huff before he slips his dressing gown on. Sherlock knows this because it took him rather a long time before he heard John’s footsteps again and they are remarkably chipper today.

Conclusion: there are clear signs that John is having a morning erection. 

Sherlock smirks darkly and slips out of bed as John pads down the stairs and walks into the kitchen to put the kettle on for a well-deserved cup of tea to get his engine running. Sherlock slips his blue robe over his naked body and knots the belt as John fetches the newspaper from downstairs. He will skim through it while drinking his tea. Sherlock has ample time to prepare himself.

He settles himself into the old-fashioned chair that stands in the corner of his bedroom. The old antique groans under his weight - it’s not intended for sitting on - but Sherlock knows it will hold. 

The chair is beautifully cut and decorated, 19th century and Victorian. He inherited it from his grandfather from his mother’s side. A real piece of craftsmanship and very valuable, it stands proudly among Sherlock’s abundant collection of ornamental objects. 

He strokes the fine carved wood of the armrests with his fingertips as the light flicks on, as expected by Sherlock, in the adjoining bathroom he and John share. He settles back into his chair, making himself comfortable as his intent gaze locks with the clear and sharp dark silhouette of John. 

The panelled bathroom door, although slightly obscured by a dim in the glass, is nonetheless completely see through. The chair is and has been positioned straight opposite that very door, ever since Sherlock moved into the flat. Not with any intention at the time, but every single morning he slips out of bed and waits for John to enter the bathroom for his morning shower and if he’s lucky, he might get to see more than he bargained for. 

Sherlock Holmes has a very dark, very secret and very voyeuristic morning ritual indeed. 

He figured long ago that John must know, _must know_ , about the door not concealing whatever is happening inside. He reckons that John either doesn’t care or most probably thinks that Sherlock, no matter what else he is doing, does not sit there in the shadow in the corner of his room at 6:40 in the morning watching him having a shower or a wank.

The first time Sherlock did this, which was not long after John moved into the flat, he was intrigued by how his body responded to watching John. Nevertheless he felt absolutely disgusted with himself for allowing his emotions and his bodily needs to run this high, he didn’t relieve himself from his erection at the time; he just watched and observed and saved data for future references. This continued for a week before he set up an experiment. He would touch himself, see how his breathing and heartbeat responded to observing John doing the same, or doing nothing at all. And it was interesting. 

And an interested Sherlock Holmes is rather dangerous.

The experiment has evolved into a game. And he knows he is playing a very dangerous game indeed. John only has to open the adjoining bathroom door once and the illusion of the sleeping flatmate would be gone forever. But then again, Sherlock lives for this, the thrill of danger, as much as John does in fact. 

Sherlock watches John brushing his teeth. Well, he cannot actually see it, but he can hear it very clearly; the electric toothbrush is deemed to wake up the entire household. Exactly two minutes later, like the dentist prescribes, he hears John gargle and spit and Sherlock feels the first flutters of arousal coiling low in his belly. His breath hitches because he knows what’s coming next.  


John turns around and stands in front of the illuminated door as he removes his dressing gown and hangs it on the hook of the hallway door. 

Sherlock grips the armrest tight as he can see John’s full profile now, like a living shadow surrounded by light. The square lines of his shoulder and back and the round curve of his fine arse, the straight line of his thighs and the strong bow of his calves. His chest is well muscled, falling down into a round, chubby belly, but not overly so. 

John’s erection has faltered a little, but Sherlock does not care because he knows exactly what’s to come. 

John walks around the bathroom for a bit, collecting towels and soap and placing them where he can reach them from the shower. Then he turns towards the toilet and starts to piss.  


Sherlock can hear it, and he can feel his cock filling and starting to twitch against his hip. He exhales hard through his nostrils. He imagines John pulling back his foreskin, aiming his half-hard cock for the toilet and give in to the call of nature. A steady stream of morning urine clatters against the toilet water and he hears John sigh in relief. Sherlock undoes the knot of his gown and lets the soft and expensive material fall down his sides. He gives his cock a few firm strokes. He needs to piss too and the urge to join John almost becomes too overwhelming, but he knows he can hold it in for just a few more minutes.

He circles his thumb around the underside of the glans and hisses as he hears John’s stream falter and becoming interfered spurts. He squeezes the first pearly white drop of pre-ejaculate out from the split and wipes it around his glans with the index finger of his left hand before bringing it to his mouth for a quick taste. He imagines John doing that to him and he moans quietly into the silent room. 

John flushes the toilet once he’s finished and he can actually hear John giving himself a few languid strokes, appreciating his empty bladder with a satisfied but soft groan. He does not move to wash his hands and Sherlock’s cock hardens even more. His full bladder protesting against the early morning activities, but he ignores it. 

Instead John heads for the shower and, as always, draws back the curtains so Sherlock cannot actually see him. If he’s lucky however, and he knows he will be, he will hear John. He always is very still when he masturbates, but John does like to talk to himself while reaching a certain point and Sherlock revels in it. 

The stream of water from the shower head reduces most of the noise that John makes, and although John is rather pleased by the fact, Sherlock is downright annoyed by it. The panelled door is getting misted by the vapours of hot steam coming from the shower. It matters not, Sherlock is not able to see John at any rate. Yet he knows what’s going on, he can hear the slight pitch of John’s increasing breathing pattern and the distant and vague sounds of hand sliding over riding flesh with growing urgency.

Sherlock himself is mirroring John’s movement; he can picture them so very well in his head. He pulls the foreskin over his glans with a slight twist with every stroke and drags it down again, stretching his sensitive frenulum. He pinches a nipple with his left unoccupied hand and stretches out his long legs, heels digging into the linoleum floor. 

The chair creaks loudly in protest under his exertions but Sherlock is far past the point of caring, as if he did in the first place. He is breathing hard through his open mouth as he pumps his cock furiously, struggling to keep his eyes from fluttering shut and failing to hear John as his senses are clouding with a haze of pleasure. 

And then he hears him talking and he knows that John is close. They are not coherent sentences. Just needy little words fluttering from his lips and Sherlock body arches. 

“Fuck yes.” The muted voice of John echoes in Sherlock’s brain. “That’s it, come on.”

Sherlock’s hand picks up a pace, the long fingers of his other hand reach behind his balls to lightly caress his perineum. His thumb presses down hard just behind his balls and he squeezes his prick tightly, drawing the foreskin back and forth over the sensitive head. His index finger slides down his perineum to caress the puckered flesh of his anus and Sherlock inhales sharply as he swallows back a whimper.  


“So close. Fuck.” John’s panting now and despite the water clattering down around him, muting his voice, Sherlock can hear him clearly,

“You want it. I know you do, oh Christ.” Sherlock is too far gone, his senses are centred on John, his brain pleasure induced and his hips buck up into the ring of his fingers tightly wrapped around his cock. “I’m going to – oh, ohhh-“ 

And with that John’s chanting subsides. 

Sherlock tugs at his balls and it takes only a few more desperate strokes before he climaxes. His ejaculate spurts over his hand and a little lands on the floor. He is biting down hard on his left fist because through the pleasurable haze he noticed that John had turned off the shower and is towelling himself dry. 

Sherlock gasps for breath, his body spent, his legs weak and he releases his cock from his iron grip, his fingers a sticky mess. He huffs an un-amused breath after a while, feeling once more repulsed with himself for these sentimental emotions that have crept inside him without permission granted. 

He quickly wipes himself and the floor clean before silently slipping back into bed and to catch up with some sleep. After all, particular morning rituals demand a lot of energy from him. 

But Sherlock is wide awake.

John goes about his business in the bathroom, wrapping his dressing gown around his shower warm body and putting the products he uses in his hair. He dries the shower before he turns towards the hallway door and then he stops. He purses his lips and after a moment he clears his throat. Yet whatever he decides at that very moment, Sherlock does not know.

He opens the hall way door and pads barefooted to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. Any moment now John will come in to check on Sherlock, perhaps offer him a cup of tea. It’s part of his morning ritual after all.

And those are not easily broken.


End file.
